Taboo
by redrosemary
Summary: Shortly after the Blight, Warden Cinnia Mahariel's near-death forced her, and her once-lover King Alistair, to reconsider what truly made them happy, despite the taboos of their culture. One-shot romance with smut and light bondage. Secret Santa Gift for Nyx Neona of the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers Facebook Group.


_Royal Palace Guest Quarters – Alistair after the Coronation_

When he was a novitiate in the Templar order, he would never have guessed, even in his wildest fantasies, that the most beautiful woman in the world, a Dalish huntress, would tie him to her bed and have her wicked, wicked way with him, with the promise that he could tie her to bed after she was done with him.

Of course, he'd never have even thought he'd be the King and a Grey Warden who had just saved the world, spending the night after his coronation with the love of his life, but Alistair Theirin was not complaining.

The silk bonds were strong, and so were the bedposts to which each of his arms were tied. Still, the sight of Cinnia Mahariel this way— green eyes half-lidded, long red hair wildly flowing, generous bosom bouncing as she rode him, and her cries of pleasure each time she hit him with her leather necklace she used as a makeshift whip—

If the Revered Mother's sermons were true, he should not just be struck by lightning, but a series of particularly powerful storms of the century.

And it would be very much worth it, for the pleasure and pain of loving Cinnia.

* * *

 _Denerim Arl of Redcliffe Estate – Cinnia after the Landsmeet_

"Are you breaking up with me?" Cinnia demanded, her gaze hard, but her green eyes overbright—anger and love and confusion and pain, all at once. She had broken the taboos of her people by befriending him, supporting him, loving him. She was Dalish, a true elf, and he, a shemlen and a royal—their love would be frowned by both their cultures. And yet she chose to defy all those conventions, because she loved him. How could he forget all of that?

But the sadness in his eyes betrayed that this was not because he had suddenly lost all love and ardor for her—it was because of those shemlen lords, the powerful humans comprising the Landsmeet. Of course they would want a human queen for their human king.

She was consumed by anger that Alistair would so easily give in to their demands.

Alistair stammered, and to spare herself—and him—the worst of her fury, she shut the door to his face and went back to her battle plans. She had no time to mourn lost love, not when the enemy was hounding them.

Cinnia Mahariel,a Dalish elf, could be accorded no greater honor than leading human armies alongside the forces she had secured from the Grey Warden treaties. Her command was given unanimously by humans, dwarves, and elves alike, and it was mere formality for Alistair to grant her the title.

General Cinnia Mahariel of the Royal Army of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey. She was also a Dalish Elf from the vast, untamed woodlands.

She would never be the lawful consort to Alistair Theirin, the highest noble in the kingdom that lorded over Ferelden.

Anyway, when all was said and done, she was still a true elf: keeper of the lost lore, walker of the lonely path, the last of the elvhenan: never again would she submit. A human mate would never be acceptable; the human king was simply unthinkable.

* * *

 _Redcliffe Castle Guest Quarters – Alistair before the Battle of Denerim_

"I'll do it," Alistair objected when Cinnia offered to give her life when Riordan told them a Warden's true duty.

Alistair's words were harshly spoken, with all the command he could muster, but in truth all his love was laden in that one sentence. He would never let Cinnia die. Not when he still drew breath.

He knew he would love no other woman than her. That they were of different races did not matter to him, and he hoped she felt the same. They had shared a tent for months, but since Denerim, she had been cold and distant. Since he was crowned king, to be precise. What was the use of being king if he could not have what he wanted?

Not that he blamed her. But it had to be done. He had to protect her from the wagging tongues of the royal household and the nobility, and if his protection came at the price of her hatred, so be it.

 _She needs to think I don't love her anymore. She'll hate me, but she'll be safe. But Andraste, I will always love her._

"Either of you do not need to die," Riordan's tired voice snapped him back to reality: here was another great Warden secret, the reason why only Wardens could slay the Archdemon. The older man's voice was resigned, and the firelight in his room made his features look waxier, older. "As the most senior Grey Warden, it falls unto me to slay the archdemon."

"Then it is settled," Cinnia said, meeting neither Riordan's nor Alistair's eyes. "In death, sacrifice. It doesn't matter who does it, as long as it is done."

Cinnia turned on her heel and was gone, and if Alistair knew her, she was already concocting a contingency plan in case Riordan fell ahead of them.

Alistair had to outthink Cinnia. A life without her… was unthinkable.

* * *

 _Redcliffe Castle Guest Quarters – Cinnia before the Dark Ritual_

Cinnia was angry at Alistair, for the way he had so easily dismissed her from his heart and his bed, but she was not angry enough for her to condemn him to death.

Truth be told, had it come down to it, she would have given up her life for Alistair. She would seek release from the cruelties of this world, where she had given up clan and family and yet still be deprived of the one thing she wanted, the one person she had come to love greatly, furiously, if the choice was solely between living without him or dying.

And yet she wanted to live, if she could find a way for both of them to do so. Never mind that Alistair had thrown her away just as easily as her clan had done. Merrill, Ashalle, Keeper Marethari, Clan Sabrae had all moved on. Alistair appeared to have moved on. She would, too. She would see more of the world, experience what it had to offer, its beauty and pain, and everything in between. Life would go on, beautiful and ugly, but still, life.

And now, the way out. Morrigan's plan was… dangerous, but the risk was worth it. Cinnia had heard of such lost magics before, and she judged that this ritual was one of them. A way for both she and Alistair to live. And if it did not work? Nothing would have been lost, because she intended to slay the Archdemon herself, but if it succeeded, her life and Alistair's would be gained.

Besides, Cinnia relished the hilarious irony of condemning Alistair to lie with the witch in order to save their lives. She would be jealous, if only she admitted it to herself.

* * *

 _Denerim – Alistair at the Battle of Denerim_

Denerim was burning.

Alistair saw their combined forces mustered, and felt a surge of pride for Cinnia, whom they all respected and revered: the knights of Ferelden, assembled with their lords. The Dalish elves with the best of their hunters. The dwarves, hardy and stoic. The mages, who had survived a rebellion and were no longer new to battle.

Cinnia was leading them all, and she accepted Alistair by her side again, as a fellow comrade in arms. Alistair followed Cinnia's orders, never questioning them. He stayed near her, always watching out for the great Dalish archer as her great bow sang. They made a great team—she finished off their enemies from a distance, while he protected her with his shield. They moved with the old elegant grace, as if nothing had happened, as if she were not a general and he her king, as if he had never shattered her heart when he took the royal mantle.

When the Archdemon revealed itself, she wasted neither effort nor resources to ground it.

Other tales would tell of the valor of Grey Warden Cinnia Mahariel, the great elven warrior whose arrows pierced the thick hide of the Archdemon and ended the Blight atop Fort Drakon. In truth, however, Cinnia was injured multiple times and but for their mage companions, she would never have made it, Morrigan's ritual or no. She had also lost her dragonthorn bow—when the archdemon gave one last stir, she dropped her weapon and seized a greatsword to slice the belly of the beast, and pierce its hideous skull to kill it once and for all.

Blinding white light followed as soon as Cinnia's blade cracked open the great dragon's skull, and an excessive force shoved them all to the ground. When he recovered, he saw her lying unconscious beside the beast, covered by its blood and gore, her helm already gone.

He wiped the gore off her and saw her chalk-white face contrasting strongly against her vallaslin—

Alistair removed his gauntlet and sought her pulse, and felt the biggest relief when he felt she was alive. Barely, but still alive, and she needed healing. All thoughts of protocol gone, he seized her as if she were his bride, and shouted for a healer: soon, First Enchanter Irving and Wynne were tending to the Hero, as they called her, and Alistair stubbornly stayed by her sickbed until Cinnia regained consciousness.

* * *

 _Royal Palace – Cinnia Before the Coronation of King Alistair_

Alistair's coronation ceremony was full of frivolities, but Cinnia could not deny even the shemlen this. Besides, it wasn't just humans who had come to honor King Alistair and Commander Cinnia; all who had fought in the Battle of Denerim were invited, even the Dalish elves and the mages. But no one from Sabrae, save from Ashalle, had come to celebrate with her; the clan had reached the Free Marches.

It was a bittersweet moment. She had discovered, through her journeys, how people with no ties of blood or clan could unite when prompted by utter necessity, and how morale could be a very useful thing to bind them together. The Dalish were not totally correct, in their assessment of the world outside the clans. And for these people who had shed blood with her, who followed her orders as she saved them, she donned her dragonscale armor—polished especially for this occasion—and put up her best smile.

Never mind that Alistair's ascension as king was also being celebrated alongside her victory.

Leliana assisted Cinnia in dressing up. Of course, the Orlesian bard could never resist this "occasion to wear our good shoes," even if Cinnia made it clear earlier that she would wear armor, or not go at all. Leliana's joy was contagious, and soon even Cinnia the Mighty could not help but acquiesce to the bard making her hair, or applying rouge to her cheeks and lips.

"Beautiful," the Orlesian cooed as she set the last hairpin in its place. "King Alistair's eyes will positively feast on you, mon amie. Shame you don't want to wear the green dress, because he'd want to ravish you then and there if you wear that."

"He broke up with me, Lel, in case you forgot," Cinnia reminded her friend. "Besides, I'm Dalish and he's king."

"Oh? Then how do you explain why he never left your sickbed?" Leliana inquired, a playful lilt to her voice. "Or why his eyes always follow you like a besotted mabari?"

Leliana leaned closer. "He will always desire and cherish you. As would you, if I knew any better."

Cinnia blushed, and directed her eyes at her looking-glass. Cinnia wore her emerald pendant in its leather cord, proudly proclaiming her heritage and birthright as a true elf, and yet the human-made armor she wore did nothing to diminish her status as a hero of all races. Also, Cinnia had to admit, Leliana had not done a terrible job: she looked distinguished and yet still so elven. Her long red hair was braided and coiled at the base of her neck, and her vallaslin went well with the makeup Leliana had taken so much time to apply.

Maybe Leliana was right, she should have worn the dress. Regal as she was in her polished armor, she would have liked to command the attention of the king who had broken her heart, just to prove that she could. Maybe then, she could reject him in turn.

But Cinnia was too proud to do so—she was a war hero, not a love-struck elf maid, and such vengeance was too petty for someone like her.

When she went out to greet the King, who was giving that victory speech Eamon no doubt prepared, Cinnia admitted that Leliana was right—Alistair could not take his eyes off her. It did not help that he looked utterly handsome as well, in that golden armor and royal demeanor.

Creators, she was falling hard again.

* * *

 _Denerim Royal Palace – Alistair at his Coronation_

Alistair knew that it was a breach of protocol, or whatever Eamon called it, to have held Cinnia's hand as he introduced her. He hoped that people were drunk enough so as not to notice how he longed for Cinnia, to hold her and to kiss her silly. The mighty Cinnia Mahariel, Hero of Ferelden, however, did not seem to mind it; he could have sworn by Andraste and the Creators Cinnia worshipped, that she squeezed back.

Cinnia looked positively amazing, a true daughter of the Dales, a figure right out of legend. He gasped as he saw her, and not a few of the nobles saw it.

He did not care.

"One of us, in particular, deserves commendation," he greeted her as she walked towards him. This was his favorite part of that litany of a speech Eamon had prepared. "How could Ferelden honor you?"

Now, it was Cinnia's turn to be surprised. "I shall think about it," she said at last.

He remembered how he had sat by Cinnia's sickbed inside the healing tents, refusing any healing for himself until he was sure Cinnia would live. Later, after all the bandages were put in place and healing spells were cast, he still refused to leave her side, but ordered that any treatment for him be made where he sat. The healers did not protest. The hours passed, and he felt the healing magics and poultices taking effect. He also checked Cinnia's bandages himself, and saw that the worst of her wounds were healing.

And he would never admit it, but by Andraste's sacred knickers, which the Maker took so long to get her out of, Alistair looked while he changed Cinnia's chest bandages, and he got hard. Nothing he had not seen before, but Cinnia was simply the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and the person he loved most in this world.

Then and there, Alistair decided that he would not give up on Cinnia, that he would beg her forgiveness and do whatever it took, whatever she wanted. His resolve strengthened when, as she recovered, he moved to leave, but she grabbed his hand, a subtle command for him to stay.

Now, at the ceremony, Alistair found himself wanting no more than to seize Cinnia and tell her everything he felt. But he knew that the crowds needed to see the Hero of Ferelden. He stood behind her as she waved at the crowd, occasionally glancing at the ever-so-subtle sway of her hips.

Maker, he had to talk to her soon. Dinner for two would be perfect.

* * *

 _Royal Palace Dining Hall – Cinnia at Dinner with Alistair_

Cinnia decided to wear the green dress that Leliana had wanted her to wear at the ceremony. It was made of heavy silk and revealed more of her bosom than her elders would have approved. As she did the last two buttons at the front of her dress, she stared at her reflection: still with the makeup Leliana had painted all over her face earlier in the day, beautifully elevating the vallaslin on her forehead and chin. She uncoiled her braided hair, and tied her hair simply at the base of her neck with a ribbon, and sighed.

She thought of what her clan would think of her now, mingling and living so openly with the shemlen. Dressing up for a date with the highest shemlen lord… who had the most amazing body, and while inexperienced, was such a quick learner. And his stamina, the way he was always ready for a second, third, sometimes fourth.

It was unthinkable, but at the same time, also so arousing. Creators. What was wrong with her?

She quickly donned the heavy emerald pendant set on a leather cord—one of the last gifts of her clan. She should remember she was elven.

 _Fen'Harel take these treacherous thoughts, why must the forbidden fruit taste the sweetest?_

Dinner with Alistair should be interesting. When she saw him, alone at the dining table where he had promised to be, with an unbroken wheel of cheese before him, and various meats and stews in that long wooden table lit by dozens of candles, she realized that he had been waiting for some time for her.

The candles were scented with lilies and roses, she noted. Her eyes also fell on the bouquet of red roses beside the king.

Alistair stood up as soon as he saw Cinnia; he probably felt her presence due to their shared tainted blood. Cinnia stepped into the light, and took in how handsome Alistair looked: he was wearing his king's finery, with a maroon silk shirt and breeches that did nothing to hide his physique, and his hair was tousled in just the right amount to make him look respectable… and ravishing.

A trick of the light, Cinnia thought furiously, and she felt her nethers burn. He pulled the chair to his right and beckoned for her to sit, and then offered her the roses.

Must he be so charming?

They ate their dinner in relative silence, unsure of how to talk to the other. She hated his silence, but hated the idea of leaving even more.

It was Alistair who spoke first.

"I'm an ass, Cin," Alistair said, and then all notes of formality were gone. "Breaking up with you was the stupidest thing in the world. But… you almost died. And I realized that I could never live without telling you how sorry I am."

Cinnia looked pointedly away, but Alistair tipped her chin and sought her beautiful green eyes. "I swore to the Maker that I will always protect you. So I thought that I was doing the right thing to break up with you, because the nobles would never leave you alone if you were still with me, and if you don't want me back I understand, but you have to know that I love you, Cin—"

"Stop," Cinnia said. Alistair was already speaking frantically, and she forgave him the moment he sought her forgiveness. How could she resist him? "I understand. But do it again, and I won't as forgiving, regardless of how attractive you are."

Cinnia blushed at that confession; she did not mean to say it out loud. She tried to rationalize: she, as a Dalish, understood the taboos and prejudices of the races. She remembered the myriad reasons why she chose him above those petty differences: his kindness, compassion, understanding, patience, strength… and his pectorals, biceps, abdomen, buttocks, just the right amount of hair on his chest, and that face that could only have been carved by the Creators, those lips that knew how to drive her wild.

And he was so handsome, in that light…

But he had hurt her, shattered her heart in a million pieces when he so lightly left her so soon after his declaration as king. She thought of the petty vengeance idea she entertained before—that she would seduce Alistair, only to leave him at that perfect moment and tell him she would never come to him again. But she could not find it in her heart to hate him—Mythal, she had to get away before she did something stupid—

Creators, this was confusing. Alistair loved her, she never doubted that, but she also wanted to… tie him to bed, whip him, and ride him so hard.

Before she knew it, Alistair's lips had sought hers, with his hands holding her so close to him.

* * *

 _Royal Palace Dining Hall – Alistair at the Night of his Coronation_

Their kiss was electric. It felt as if it were the first—the same sweetness, suddenness, urgency. Cinnia played with Alistair's hair as their tongues sparred, and then her lips left his and sought his neck instead, while she lowered her hands to his lower backside. He retaliated by yanking off the ribbon that held Cinnia's red hair in place, and oh, how he enjoyed undoing mighty elf's fiery red hair.

He pushed her onto the dining table, and she shoved their empty plates onto the floor. She pulled down his breeches; he lifted her skirt and found her wet and warm.

No further prelude was needed; he entered her with urgency, and she squealed in delight; their release came swiftly.

"Bedroom?" He asked her breathlessly, eager for another round.

"Mine is nearer," she declared, in a voice full of command and ardor, lust and authority. She pulled his hand, rather a bit too violently, towards her room.

They were giggling as they ran in the empty corridors. He entered her room first, and made for the bed, hoping that Cinnia would jump right at him, and a thousand thoughts came at him with what he would do at those teasing breasts of hers.

But as soon as Cinnia locked her door, her demeanor changed. Her eyes were filled with fire and longing, but there was something else there.

He decided to sit on the bed, instead of lying on it, and she walked towards him excruciatingly slowly. He could hear her heavy breathing. Who was this fiery woman and what had she done to his sweet Cinnia? His stupidest decision ever was to break her heart, and he could not believe how incredibly lucky he was that she had taken him back—and Maker, was he ever so glad that she survived—and she kissed him, and Andraste guide him, he was in her bedroom—

And then she slapped him on the face.

"That is for breaking my heart, after I chose you above everything the Dalish had ever taught."

Her voice rang with steel, but her next words were softer, more delicate. Another hit, this time on the shoulder. "And yet I cannot imagine life without you, either. Not when you seemed resigned to my anger, not when you carried me like that after the battle, or when you stayed by my side while I was recovering."

Another kiss, followed by a rather painful scratch in his back that he felt despite his shirt. He saw that she removed her leather necklace, and she proceeded to hit him with it. Her eyes burned with desire and fury.

"Creators, Alistair, you drive me crazy," she moaned. "Touch me."

This was starting to confuse Alistair, but he could not deny being incredibly aroused by this more… domineering Cinnia, who had by now sat on his lap, her legs straddling him. His hands sought her breasts as he licked the tip of her left ear.

She shuddered, like she always did, when he lavished attention on her sensitive ears and even more sensitive nipples.

"Undress me," she ordered in a feral growl, and she removed the leather necklace around her neck. "And yourself."

Who was he to refuse? He quickly took off his shirt, breeches and smalls. But he had to let her know first how he felt.

"I've always loved you, Cin," Alistair confessed as he took off her gown and pulled down her smalls. "I thought I would be protecting you by leaving you, so the vultures of the court would not hurt you."

"Did I tell you to talk?" she taunted, and she hit him again with her leather necklace. The sting was painful, but also strangely arousing.

She pushed him towards the bed, and then, with force and mischief in her voice once again, "But why would I ever need protecting from you?" She smiled devilishly, and then bit him hard on the shoulder—not enough to make him bleed, but painful nonetheless.

And then Cinnia desisted. In a whisper, she asked, "Am I hurting you? Should I stop?"

"No," Alistair whispered huskily. "I like you domineering. So hot."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll tell you to stop, Cin, if you truly begin to hurt me."

Cinnia needed no further invitation. She retrieved her silk gown, tore it in two with a dagger, tied Alistair to her bedpost, and went on to have her wicked way with him.

* * *

 _Royal Palace Apartments – Cinnia at the Night of Alistair's Coronation_

Cinnia was extremely aroused by the cries of lust and pain emanating from her man. She rode him while his hands were tied to the bedposts, unable to do anything as she set the pace of their lovemaking. Occasionally, she hit him on the shoulder with her leather necklace.

Creators, who would have ever imagined that this was extremely pleasurable.

Alistair was her man, and she was domineering this strong, fine warrior who had faced death in the face and did not flinch.

Her man. It was a funny thought. He was a shemlen, she was a true elf; he was king, and she his general, never his queen, but they were doing the last thing a shemlen and and elf, or a king and his general, should be doing. Neither should lovemaking, in her limited experience, include tying up the other.

There was such a delicious thing about breaking these taboos, and she screamed in delight as a powerful orgasm overtook her. And when she hit him one last time, she felt his release.

* * *

 _Royal Palace Apartments – Alistair at Midnight_

"Maker, we should be reduced to ashes now, if the Chantry sisters are correct," Alistair sighed in contentment, as he lay in Cinnia's arms. She had released him shortly after they both reached their climax.

"The Creators should have sent me to the Void by now, if our tales are to be believed," Cinnia retorted, and she kissed Alistair tenderly, on his forehead and then on his lips. "Tying a shemlen to my bed and having my wicked way with him is not something the Dalish would do."

"And here I thought tying shemlen to bedposts is a secret Dalish sex ritual." Alistair whispered purposefully whispered in Cinnia's ear, knowing how erogenous it was for his exquisite Dalish love. His hand ran over her fiery red hair. "Shall the shemlen king order an Exalted March?"

"Kings don't order Exalted Marches, only your Divine does," Cinnia retorted, giggling, as she wrestled with Alistair. She lost, and he ended up on top of her.

"Well, this king would," Alistair growled.

"Never again would the Dalish surrender," she moaned as Alistair tied her wrists with the silks she had earlier used on him. When he was done, she tested her bonds, and found that she could not resist anything he would do.

Not that she wanted to.

Alistair licked Cinnia's nipple, and then bit it lightly. His eyes wandered to a candle shedding a soft light in the room. "Let's see if the keeper of the lost lore knows a way to keep the shemlen king from getting even."


End file.
